The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer

officers (six in all) appeared in my library—without knocking. I received them there, sipping a Château Margaux 1893 and bearing an uncanny resemblance to the portrait of my ‘ancestor’ hanging above me over the mantelpiece.
    They bowed to me and were all politeness, which did not prevent them from taking over the house and moving me into the gatekeeper’s cottage the very next day. Eben and Dawsey slipped over after curfew that night and helped me carry most of the wine down to the cottage, where we cleverly hid it behind the woodpile, down the well, up the chimney, under the haystack and above the rafters. But even so, I still ran outof wine by early 1941. A sad day, but I had friends to help distract me—and then, then I found Seneca.
    I came to love our book meetings—they helped to make the Occupation bearable. Some of their books sounded all right, but I stayed true to Seneca. I came to feel that he was talking to me—in his funny, biting way—but talking only to me. His letters helped to keep me alive in what was to come later.
    I still go to all our Society meetings. Everyone is sick of Seneca, and they are begging me to read someone else. But I won’t do it. I also act in plays that one of our repertory companies puts on—impersonating Lord Tobias gave me a taste for acting, and besides, I am tall, loud and can be heard in the back row.
    I am glad the war is over, and I am John Booker again.
    Yours truly,
    John Booker
    From Juliet to Sidney and Piers
Mr Sidney Stark
Monreagle Hotel
79 Broadmeadows Avenue
Melbourne
Victoria
Australia
    31st March 1946
    Dear Sidney and Piers,
    No life’s blood—just sprained thumbs from copying out the enclosed letters from my new friends in Guernsey. I love theirletters and could not bear the thought of sending the originals to the bottom of the earth where they would undoubtedly be eaten by wild dogs.
    I knew the Germans occupied the Channel Islands, but I barely gave them a thought during the war. I have since scoured
The Times
for articles and anything I can cull from the London Library on the Occupation. I also need to find a good travel book on Guernsey—one with descriptions, not timetables and hotel recommendations—to give me the feel of the island.
    Quite apart from my interest
in their interest
in reading, I have fallen in love with two men: Eben Ramsey and Dawsey Adams. Clovis Fossey and John Booker, I like. I want Amelia Maugery to adopt me; and I want to adopt Isola Pribby. I will leave you to discern my feelings for Adelaide Addison (Miss) by reading her letters. The truth is, I am living more in Guernsey than I am in London at the moment—I pretend to work with one ear cocked for the sound of the post dropping in the box, and when I hear it, I scramble down the stairs, breathless for the next piece of the story. This must be how people felt when they gathered around the publisher’s door to seize the latest instalment of
David Copperfield
as it came off the printing press.
    I know you’re going to love the letters, too—but would you be interested in more? To me, these people and their wartime experiences are fascinating and moving. Do you agree? Do you think there could be a book here? Don’t be polite—I want your opinion (both of your opinions) unvarnished. And you needn’t worry—I’ll continue to send you copies of the letters even if you don’t want me to write a book about Guernsey. I am (mostly) above petty vengeance.
    Since I have sacrificed my thumbs for your amusement, you should send me one of Piers’s latest in return. So glad you are writing again, my dear.
    My love to you both,
    Juliet
    From Dawsey to Juliet
2nd April 1946
    Dear Miss Ashton,
    Having fun is the biggest sin in Adelaide Addison’s bible (lack of humility following close on its heels), and I’m not surprised she wrote to you about Jerry-bags. Adelaide lives on her wrath.
    There